


the stars above me

by clxude



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Hook-Up, M/M, Miscommunication, POV Third Person, Pov hunk, awkward hunk, nonbinary pidge, nothing graphic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8448151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clxude/pseuds/clxude
Summary: When the night comes to an end, I wish I could hold you in my arms and pretend that we’re still friends.
  Hunk has always been a supporter of "if you don't think about it, it won't hurt." Too bad that never works in practice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> idk I like it. beta-ed by sarcasticspacenerd. title from west texas by pwr bttm - _The stars above me are the same ones above you/I've been trying to play it cool but I still love you_

The train ride is silent, the train car close to empty. The rocking motion sends people to sleep, paired with a lullaby of screeching wheels.

 

Hunk watches the people around him, suspended in yellow light. Two business women slump against each other, dead to the world. A college student, furiously writing in a notebook. He’s never been one for trains, or the close proximity it puts him in with other people. Even though no one is looking his way, Hunk swears they’re all peering into his soul, like they know what he did and are silently judging him for it. 

 

He gets off at the next stop, even though his is still five stations away.

 

…

 

Pidge glares at him through the doorway, their head a few inches below the chain. They’re not wearing their glasses, and it leaves their eyes looking unusually small. 

 

“Fuck off,” they mutter, voice thick with sleep. They raise their hand to push up their glasses, fingertips just a few centimeters away when they remember they’re not wearing them. “Go annoy Lance.”

 

“I…” Hunk doesn’t know what to say. Normally, whenever he’s uncomfortable, he can ramble on for ages until he directs the conversation back to something more familiar. But he can’t do that with Pidge, when they’ve known each other since high school. “Why I can’t I hang out with you?”

 

Pidge looks at him strangely for half a second, tilts their head before shrugging. They close their apartment door, and through the wood, Hunk can hear them removing the chain before opening the door again. 

 

“You can make coffee if you want,” Pidge says, meandering back to their room. “I’m going back to sleep for a few hours. If you need anything, call Matt.”

 

Hunk, confused for a second, blinks. Matt is camping with Shiro in some state park a few hours away without phone signal. Then again, the older Holt sibling would be more responsive than a sleeping Pidge.

 

Hunk nods and sits down on Pidge’s couch, gripping his knees. “I’ll - I’ll see you later, then.”

 

Pidge stops, their hand on the bedroom doorknob. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah!” Hunk laughs, but it chokes him up. “Just - just go back to sleep Pidge. I’ll be fine.”

 

Pidge, thankfully, doesn’t question it.

 

…

 

By the time Pidges wakes up, it’s ten o’clock and Hunk has managed to work his way through an entire pot of coffee. His hands shake as he sets his empty mug down on the table. Pidge eyes him suspiciously before heading to the kitchen, taking Hunk’s mug with them.

 

They come back a few minutes later with a bowl of Cheerios, a spoon clutched between their teeth. They tuck theirself under a blanket and pull a pillow onto their lap to function as a makeshift tabletop. 

 

They eat slowly, something Hunk could never understand. When it comes to eating cereal, the faster the better, unless, for some bizarre reason, you enjoyed soggy Frosted Flakes. Lance never ate slowly, either. Lance never did anything slow, he always - 

 

_ Stop. Don’t think about him. _

 

Hunk is glad that Pidge took away his coffee mug. His hands are shaking even more now, too much to keep a firm grasp. He tucks his hands between his thighs in an attempt to stop the nervous energy.

 

Once Pidge is done eating, they set their bowl down on the coffee table with a loud  _ click,  _ and throw the spoon in the bowl half a second later.

 

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?” Pidge asks as they reach for the television remote. The volume is turned down low enough that Hunk struggles to hear what if being said in the news segment. “Or do I need to leave Fox News on for a while to soften you up?”

 

Hunk scratches his jaw. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, but his facial hair grows so slowly that he stays in the awkward itchy phase for far longer than he would like to. “There’s really nothing to - “

 

“Cut the BS and tell me the truth, Hunk. This has something to do with Lance, doesn’t it?”

 

“Why would you say - “

 

_ “Hunk.”  _ Pidge glares. They can be terrifying when they want to be, and ever since they discovered they could use that to manipulate Hunk, they’ve kept it in their back pocket. “Tell me. Now.”

 

“Lance and I hooked up?” Hunk braces for impact, squeezing his eyes shut. Saying it out made it seem so much more real, instead of just a hazy moment of weakness. 

 

_ “What?”  _ Pidge shrieks, falling off of the couch. “You  _ what?”  _

 

“We had sex.”

 

“I, I know what you meant. I just - I didn’t realize you like each other.”

 

When Hunk doesn’t respond, Pidge’s lips form a perfect  _ O.  _

 

“You  _ do  _ like him,” they whisper, climbing back on the couch beside Hunk. “You like him a lot.”

 

“But he doesn’t like me. Or, at least not like that. It was just a mistake, you know - “

 

He pauses when his phone starts to ring. He checks caller ID, and immediately tosses it back on the couch. He rests his head against Pidge’s shoulder.

 

“Was that Lance?” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You need to talk to him. He’s probably feeling the same way as you, and leaving without saying anything isn’t going to make the awkwardness go away.”

 

“I don’t want to talk to him. What if he decided that he hates me? What if he never wants to talk to me again? What if he likes guys, but just not me?”

 

“Hunk, you need to - “

 

“I really like him. I don’t… I don’t want to lose him just because I kissed him while we were watching a movie.” Hunk drops his head, blushing hard.

 

“Did you,” Hunk looks up to see Pidge’s jaw dropped in surprise, “try to Netflix and chill with Lance?”

 

“Maybe?” It comes out sounding like a squeak. “Yes?”

 

Pidge starts laughing, hard enough that Hunk can feel the vibrations. It takes them a few minutes to settle down, and even then, Hunk can feel little hiccups. 

 

“Lance always talks about how he’s the best at Netflix and chill. I bet he didn’t see that coming. What movie did you watch?”

 

Hunk blushes even harder, before mumbling,  _ “The Aristocats”  _ into Pidge’s shoulder. 

 

Pidge bursts out in laughter all over again. “You watched a movie about fucking  _ pussy  _ before hooking up with Lance? I don’t know if I should be proud of you or embarrassed for you.”

 

Hunk is trying not to scream. Pidge isn’t helping.

 

Luckily, Hunk’s shame doesn’t last long before Pidge’s phone is ringing. They glance at the screen, and judging by the grin on their face - wide with teeth glinting - Hunk isn’t going to want to stick around for the outcome. 

 

“Hey, Lance - no, I haven’t seen him. What’s wrong? ...I’ll tell him if I see him - mhm, sucks.” They sigh as they hang up. “You’re lucky I covered for you.”

 

They grab the remote, their finger hovering over the volume controls. “And, go take a shower. Your hair's a mess.”

 

Hunk blushes, laughs nervously. His knees crack when he stands from sitting for so long. “Ah, thanks, Pidge. A lot.”

 

They smile, eyes glued to the TV screen. “Yeah, whatever. Just make sure you call him later. He sounded really upset.”

 

Hunk doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

 

…

 

He spends a long time in the shower, staring at the tile wall until the water runs icy. Even then, he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to face what he’s done. Even once he shuts off the water and climbs out, he still tries his best to avoid everything in favor of sitting on the toilet. Water drips from his hair and until his eyes, beads of it rolling down his face. 

 

He stares at his phone screen, pulls up Lance’s contact only to close it again and again. Hunk has never been brave, although he’s tried to be time and time again. It’s easier, in his opinion, to avoid and recede until it’s no longer an option. 

 

He nearly drops his phone when Pidge sends him a message, but even that is only  _ why haven’t you called him yet,  _ which is immediately followed up by  _ also are you staying for lunch because I have no food. _

 

He ignores the first and replies to the second message - he still has far too much coursework in need of completion. He takes a deep breath, and, before he can talk himself out of it, pulls up Lance’s contact and hits call. 

 

He hunches over his knees as he listens to the dial tone play, trying to feel as small as possible. When he’s around Lance, he always feels happy and whole. But now, he feels anything but, like he’s being torn in a million directions at once. 

 

When the automatic voice mailbox begins its message, Hunk feels oddly relieved and doesn’t leave a message. 

 

…

 

Lance calls him while he’s on the train home. As soon as he sees the caller ID, he lets it ring out and blames it on the lack of signal down in the tunnels. 

 

…

 

The next time Lance calls, Hunk is huddled under sheets and quilts. His bedroom is too hot for so many layers, so he switches the fan on, even though the slowly moving blades don’t do shit. 

 

He stares at Lance’s contact photo for a few minutes - a selfie Lance had snapped on a beach day before term started, smiling wide, eyes bright. His hair was a bit longer in the front than it is now, sea water soaked and dripping in his eyes. Salt granules sparkle on his skin. Pictures like this make it easy for Hunk to see how he fell in love with his best friend.

 

He thumbs over the home button for a few more seconds, takes several deep breaths, and slides a finger across the bottom of the screen to accept the call.

 

“I’m going to pretend that I’m not hurt about you ignoring me after we had sex,” Lance says as soon as the call begins. “It’s cool, whatever. I just thought we were past this point in our friendship.”

 

“I’m sorry.” When he’s not surrounded by equations and machines, Hunk never quite knows what to say. But with Lance, Hunk is fine.  _ Was  _ fine. Could work around him like two cogs in a grandfather clock. Now, he’s not sure what’s wrong, but things don’t function like they used to. 

 

“You don’t have to apologize, Hunk. It’s fine, really.” Lance’s voice sounds too thick, it’s not his normal joking tone. “Just don’t ignore me next time, yeah? That would be the right thing to do.”

 

“You’re upset,” he says, because he’s never heard Lance talk like this before, sarcastic and brusque. It -  _ hurts  _ \- and while Hunk knows what he did is wrong, it still feels like a slap in the face and a knife to the gut.

 

And Lance just laughs, says, “Yeah, I fucking am.” 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I bet you are.” 

 

Hunk, hearing shifting on the other end of the line, worries for a split second that Lance is going to hang up on him.

 

“I love you,” he says. Hunk doesn't quite know what leads to him saying this, but at the end of the day, when he’s breathing hard and flushed harder in the sanctity of his bed. It doesn’t really matter. He’s all alone - it’s just him, the phone, and Lance on the other end. 

 

“I love you,” he repeats, “and I thought if I told you, you wouldn’t want to be friends anymore. I just, fuck, I thought if I pretended that we never hooked up, it wouldn’t change anything.”

 

“You fucking idiot, I - “ Lance stops himself. “Where are you?”

 

“My apartment?”

 

“Good. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

 

Once he hangs up, it takes a few minutes for Lance’s words to sink in. Once they do, it sends Hunk on a cleaning frenzy, shoving things into every closet and cabinet he can. It’s not like Lance has never seen his apartment as the wreck it perpetually is, but something about it feels fundamentally different, since Hunk said  _ I love you.  _

 

He changes three times. The final time, he drops his jeans the second he spots a hickey on the crook of his neck. It’s splotchy, full of dark purple and red. After a few seconds of searching, he finds two more bruises, faint against his dark skin, along with parallel scratches running along his spine. He doesn’t remember Lance leaving them, but then again, most of his memories of the night before are hazy.

 

He tugs on a shirt and jeans and tries to forget he ever saw the marks.

 

…

 

He’s washing dishes when Lance knocks on the door. He could put everything in the dishwasher just as easily, but his hands are too twitchy and he needs a distraction before he decides to attempt to deep clean the entire apartment before Lance arrives. 

 

He’s not breathing as he shuts off the faucet and dries his hands, and he’s still not breathing when he walks to the door and twists the deadbolt open. 

 

Half a beat later, the door is open. There’s no going back. Lance smiles.

 

“Hey, Hunk.”

 

…

 

They sit on the couch. The silence is awkward and the air is too still. Hunk tries not to move, attempts to not draw too much attention. He feels like a goldfish in a bowl, circling the same space forever, being stared at by the same faces, the same fingers poking hit surroundings. 

 

“Did you mean what you said?” Lance finally asks, breaking the silence. He’s pale, and his bottom lip pink and bitten. There’s a purple mark on his neck. It takes a painful moment for Hunk to make it from  _ I have similar bruises there  _ to  _ I left that, like an artist signing their work.  _

 

“Mean what?” He knows the answer, but life is a diversion tactic and he’s a master strategist. Or, that’s what his mother used to say, back when the neighborhood children would let him play tag and he almost always won.

 

“When you said that you loved me,” Lance says that sentence too loudly in Hunk’s opinion. Those are words that should be whispered in the dead of night, words that should be scribbled on bar napkins and tucked deep into pockets. They should be held sacred, not said loudly, no matter how carefully. 

 

“What would it mean if I meant it?” Replying, not matter how indirectly, is a promise he’s not ready to make.

 

“I would say the same thing, then.”

 

…

 

They’re two twin suns, revolving closer and closer until there’s no space between them, just fingers in hair and tongues against teeth, sharp and biting. Hunk can’t tell the carpet from the ceiling and while that would normally bother him, Lance’s hands are digging into his hips  _ now,  _ and Lance’s lips are moving against his mouth  _ now,  _ and everything is now-now- _ now.  _

 

It’s sloppy and unrehearsed, moving at the speed. Hunk is breathless, his heart races. Lance’s mouth tastes like too-sweet coffee. Hunk doesn’t even want to begin to imagine what he tastes like, but as long as Lance isn’t pulling back, he’s not stopping, either. 

  
They still need to talk about this, whatever  _ this  _ is. But not now, and not for a while, not until Lance stops moving against him, kissing like his life depends on it.

**Author's Note:**

> did anyone else watch the tale of thomas burberry cause I did, and just like the entire kylux fandom, I am now dead. someone write a fic I need it.  
> tumblr - mother-iwa-chan  
> I take requests if that's something you're in to  
> comments/kudos are cool


End file.
